


bang! bang!

by worry



Series: wide & awake [1]
Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, M/M, they live in America
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-07-24 09:51:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7503784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/worry/pseuds/worry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are two things you need to know about Fedya Dolokhov:</p><p>1. He's in love with Anatole Kuragin.</p><p>2. Anatole Kuragin doesn't love him back.</p><p>/</p><p>There are two things that you need to know about Mary Bolkonsky:</p><p>1. She's in love with Natasha Rostova.</p><p>2. Natasha Rostova doesn't love her back.</p><p>(Or: the highschool au where Dolokhov and Mary are best friends, math is hard, no one is straight, and Andrey isn't here.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. fallin' off the edge with you

**Author's Note:**

> Because every fandom needs a highschool au, right?
> 
> Right.
> 
> ! Thanks to Fay, peaceforthenight, who was the inspiration for the Dolokhov Offers To Fight Anything And Everything aspect of this fic. I love Fay.
> 
> Also I'm a homebound student, so... sorry for any inaccuracies, haha.

There are two things you need to know about Fedya Dolokhov:

 

1\. He's in love with Anatole Kuragin.

 

2\. Anatole Kuragin doesn't love him back.

 

It shouldn't be a big part of his identity, but it is; he's been in love with Anatole since the third grade, practically. He's been in love with Anatole since the very first day of third grade. He's been in love with Anatole since his birth. He's been in love with Anatole since the beginning of time. He's been in love with Anatole since—

 

Well. He's been in love with Anatole since the very first day of third grade. His flaw: he likes to exaggerate things. It _feels like_ he's been in love with Anatole since the big bang. Since the creation of this universe.

 

Another flaw: he can't do math. Not anymore. He used to be good at it, but somehow he stopped being able to understand it all. He can't do math. This shouldn't be relevant, just like being in love with Anatole shouldn't be relevant. It is. It always is. He can't do math and he's in love with Anatole Kuragin and the world in general is fucking horrible.

 

He has the same math class as Anatole, sits directly behind him. This has no correlation to the fact that he's failing math. They are two completely separate things.

 

If they  _were_ connected, though, it would make sense.

 

It's a really good thing that they aren't and the world continues to torture him in the way that it always does.

 

Anatole doesn't love him back.

 

This is just a  _fact,_ okay.

 

A simple, true fact.

 

* * *

 

 There are two things you need to know about Mary Bolkonsky:

  
  
1\. She's in love with Natasha Rostova.

2\. Natasha Rostova doesn't love her back.

 

It shouldn't be a big part of her identity, but it is; Natasha is everything that she isn't: beautiful, kind, popular, _loved_.

 

Mary is loved. It would be unfair to say that she isn't.

 

Mary has Dolokhov, her dear best friend who she loves with all of her heart. He's fierce and kind and caring and he  _loves_ Mary. Mary is loved. It would be unfair to say that she isn't.

 

Mary has Andrey, her dear brother who she loves with all of her heart. Andrey is a light in the dark, the man who protects her. Keeps her safe. She loves Andrey with all of her heart, and Andrey loves Natasha with all of his heart.

 

Mary has flaws, just like Dolokhov does.

 

Mary is loved. It would be unfair to say that she isn't.

 

Not in the way she  _wants_ to be loved.

 

Leave it to Mary to fall for her brother's girlfriend. Leave it to Mary to fall for the most unattainable girl in the entire _world_. Mary could have fallen in love with any other girl, but her brain chose Natasha and the world in general is horrible. Her luck has never been the best.

 

Natasha doesn't love her back.

 

This is just a _fact_ , okay.

 

A simple, true fact.

* * *

 

  
"I haven't seen you eat lunch in two days," he notes.

 

 

"They've served us nothing but fish sticks for the past two days," Mary tells him. "Or have you not noticed?"

 

Dolokhov hadn't noticed. 

 

 

He's been eating lunch with Mary at the same table since freshman year. Buried in the back of the cafeteria where no one can bother them. There's still the embarrassing  _F+A_ carved into the plastic side of the table by fourteen-year-old-and-hopeless-romantic Fedya Dolokhov. There's still the embarrassing love poem written in pen by fifteen-year-old-and-hopeless-romantic Fedya Dolokhov on the top of the table that will probably be there until the end of time because apparently no soap is strong enough to wash away Dolokhov's infatuation. The hearts that Mary doodled on her side of the table are still there. The gum that Dolokhov stuck underneath the table on the very first day of school is still there. He's been eating lunch with Mary at the same table since freshman year, and he almost forgot about these things.

 

There are many things that Dolokhov forgets nowadays. There are many things that Dolokhov doesn't notice nowadays.

 

And it's all Anatole fucking Kuragin's fault. Damn him and his beautiful smile.

 

Every day at lunch he counts his food. Three days ago he had fifteen french fries. Three slices of lettuce on his hamburger, one slice of cheese, two tomatoes. The day previous to that his macaroni and cheese consisted of forty-three macaroni and twelve chunks of hot dog.

 

And he  _didn't even notice_ what he was eating for lunch. Didn't count any of it. For two whole days.

 

It's all Anatole fucking Kuragin's fault.

 

The soda in the cafeteria is flat and has no carbonation. It makes his stomach hurt. This is also Anatole Kuragin's fault. Somehow.

 

(He drinks it anyways.) (Because fuck Anatole Kuragin.) 

 

"I guess I didn't," Dolokhov replies.

 

"I understand," Mary says, because she's _Mary_ and amazing and the nicest person on this earth. "I'm just worried about you."

 

"You don't need to be worried about me," Dolokhov says. "I'm completely fine."

 

"You haven't been doing your usual routines," Mary says back. Mary, on the other hand, notices  _everything_ and it's almost a little bit creepy. "You  _always_ do your routines."

 

"I appreciate that you're worried," Dolokhov says, "but really, I'm fine. I've been distracted lately, that's all."

 

Mary's eyes shift across the cafeteria and Dolokhov knows  _instantly_ who she's looking at.

 

"Not because of him," Dolokhov says quickly. 

 

"Then why?"

 

"I'm failing math class," Dolokhov says. Sighs. He shoves a fish stick in his mouth and looks away. 

 

"Aren't you in Marya Dmitrievna's class?" she asks. "I thought it was  _impossible_ to fail any class she teaches."

 

"I thought so too," he says, "but here I am. Failing."

 

"Do you need a tutor?" Mary asks suddenly. "I'm not the  _best_ at math, but Sonya's quite good, I can probably get her to help you—"

 

"No, no," Dolokhov interrupts, "I don't need a tutor."

 

"Are you sure?"

 

"Yes. But — but thank you for the offer. I really appreciate it."

 

Mary smiles her kind, wonderful smile.

 

Dolokhov would be lost without her.

 

They've been best friends since Dolokhov found her crying outside of the classroom in fourth grade. She muttered something about her father, and Dolokhov threatened to beat him up, and their bond was born. Dolokhov threatened to fight anyone who hurt Mary, and Mary in turn held onto Dolokhov tightly as his only friend.

 

A timeline of the Marykhov friendship, a name-smash created by Mary and scribbled down in her notebook:

 

  * November Fourteenth (roughly), Fourth Grade



 

Mary's father yells at her for the first time. She starts crying in class and has to leave, and Dolokhov, the wonderful Fedya Dolokhov who sits in the front row and is the funniest kid in class, comes up to her.

 

"Mary," he says. "Are you okay?"

 

"I'm fine," she replies, instinctively. She can't let anyone know what happened. She can't - she can't - she just  _can't._

 

"Who do I need to fight?"

 

Mary looks up. Wipes her tears.

 

"I'm sorry?"

 

"I'll fight whoever hurt you," Dolokhov says. No one has ever been this  _nice_ to Mary before.

 

"Can you fight my dad?" she asks. 

 

"Absolutely," Dolokhov says. He doesn't ask any questions, only holds his fist up in the air.

 

"Thank you."

 

  * December Eighteenth, Fourth Grade



 

Mary remembers this day vividly.

 

It's Natasha's first day.

 

Dolokhov is pushing her on the swings at 8:03 in the morning. Natasha walks onto the playground with shaking legs, she tucks her hair behind her ear and goes up slowly to the teacher, and it's love at first sight.

 

Mary falls off of the swing.

 

Later Dolokhov passes her a note during a very boring lesson about prefixes and suffixes. It says:

 

_What do you think of the new girl?_

 

Mary replies:

 

_I don't know. She seems nice. Why?_

 

The next note is barely legible. From what Mary can understand of it, it says:  _saw you staring at her. You fell off swings. Do I need to?_

 

 _What?_ she replies.

 

_Do I need to fight her too?_

 

_No!! She's not mean!! Just I think she's cool. Also I can handle myself, Fedya, but thanks._

 

 

Dolokhov turns around and stares at her. Smiles. 

 

He doesn't reply.

 

  * January First, Sixth Grade



 

They both come out to each other at the same time.

 

"Happy new year," Mary says into the phone. "Wanna meet at the mall? I have something to tell you."

 

"Um, sure," Dolokhov replies. "I, actually, um, have something, uh..."

 

"Are you okay?"

 

"I have something to tell you, too."

 

"I'll be there soon," Mary says. 

 

She waits for Dolokov to arrive on a bench outside.

 

Many things run through her mind:

 

 _Someone died. He doesn't want to be friends with me anymore. I'll be alone. He's moving away. He's sick and dying or something. He has a girlfriend and she doesn't like us being friends. He's dating_ Natasha _. Something bad happened. Something really really bad—_

 

He pats Mary on the shoulder.

 

"Hm?" she says. She turns around and Dolokhov is behind her, hands shaking.

 

"I'm gay," he says, fast but confident. Everyone around them turns to look, but the same fearlessness remains on his face.

 

_I'm gay._

 

"You're..."

 

"Gay."

 

"But—"

 

"I'm gay."

 

"So you're—"

 

"Gay."

 

"You like—"

 

"I'm gay and I like guys. Yes."

 

"Oh."

 

"You're not okay with it, are you?" he says. The expression on his face turns to terror. "You're the only person who matters, I should've never—"

 

"Me too," Mary says softly.

 

"Wait," Dolokhov says. A smile lurks at the corners of his mouth. "You're—"

 

"I'm a lesbian," she replies. This is the first time she's ever said the word out loud. It feels weird but in a good way — she's sure of herself. She knows who she is. For the past twelve years, she didn't know who she was. Now: her best friend understands.

 

Dolokhov is smiling full now. "This is amazing," he says. "We're alone together in this very heterosexual world."

 

Mary laughs, buries her head in her hands. "Yeah," she says, "we are. We really, really are."

 

* * *

 

 

"I have a proposition for you two," says Hélène as she takes a seat next to Mary.

 

"What is it?" Dolokhov asks. Hélène is always a calming presence; being near her makes Dolokhov feel warm inside. Hélène was the first one to figure out Dolokhov's crush back in elementary school, and she's always been extremely supportive - being Anatole's sister, she knows almost everything about him, which has lead to some  _interesting_ conversations in the past. Conversations that involved Hélène telling Dolokhov every single one of Anatole's secrets and everything that Anatole likes and dislikes.  _Yeah._ Ever since that conversation happened, Hélène has been trying to get Dolokhov to talk to Anatole but to no avail.

 

It's not that Dolokhov is  _scared._ Dolokhov is fierce.

 

It's just that Hélène is -  _well._ Hélène is a senior and a little bit intimidating and she knows a lot about her brother. It's extremely confusing.

 

Also: Every time Dolokhov tries to speak to him, he gets an uncontrollable urge to touch Anatole's unnaturally blond hair. It's so  _beautiful._ It's perfectly styled and always so soft looking and it  _has_ to be dyed, because there's no waythat someone can naturally have hair that's  _that_ blond.

 

(Hélène told him that Anatole spends half an hour on styling it in the morning. Which makes a lot of sense.)

 

The senior class doesn't have the same lunch period as the juniors do, which means that Hélène skipped class to come and talk to Dolokhov and Mary about this very important thing. Dolokhov loves her for it.

 

"I am writing to the principal about starting an LGBT club."

 

"You mean a Gay-Straight Alliance?" Mary asks.

 

"Well, that's what I'm calling it on the official application, but all of the posters and stuff are going to say LGBT club. I was talking about it with Sonya and we decided that we need to find other people in this hell of a school that aren't straight."

 

"Okay," Dolokhov says. He gives a slow nod. "What do you need us to do?"

 

"I just need you to come," she says, and bites her lip, "at least, to the first meeting, so the principal knows that people are actually interested in it. Marya D. has already volunteered her classroom and supervision."

 

"That's nice of her," Dolokhov says. He sighs; he  _really_ doesn't want the entire school knowing, but Hélène is so charming. She's so hard to say  _no_ to. "Okay. I'll come. Mary?"

 

"Um, well, I don't..."

 

"You don't have to come if you're not comfortable with it," he says, "and you can just go and say you're an ally if you want. Regardless, I'll support you in whatever you do."

 

"Oh," Mary says, and looks down at the floor, "um. Okay. I guess I'll go as an ally, then."

 

Hélène smiles and pats both of them on the shoulder. "Thank you guys! Knew I could count on you. Anyway, so if everything works out, we should be ready to go by... Thursday, I think? After school. See you there."

 

"See you there," Dolokhov and Mary say in unison, and when Hélène leaves, they both let out sighs. Again: Hélène is so  _charming_ that no one can ever resist her. She comes in and everyone falls into a trance.

 

There's something very interesting about the Kuragin family.

 

Anatole does it, too. The charming thing. He's just more subtle about it; it's easy to resist him for a while, until you spend enough time around him and then he starts seeping into your entire being.

 

Sometimes you're never able to resist him. Sometimes he's as charming as his sister. Sometimes you're Fedya Dolokhov and he's your entire identity.

 

It doesn't really matter.

 

Dolokhov finishes his final fish stick and grimaces.

 

"Did we really just—"

 

"We sure did," Mary finishes.

 

"I have a feeling that the next few days are going to be very interesting."


	2. this terrible night will pass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bolkonsky is a fucking asshole, Mary despises bananas, and Natasha is the most beautiful thing Mary has ever seen.

 

 On Tuesday, Mary's father picks her up from school and in the car, says, "When we get home, say goodbye to your brother."

 

"I'm sorry?" Mary asks. She starts to panic -  _her father is sending her away, she's never coming back, she'll never see Dolokhov or Natasha or Hélène ever again, she's—_

 

"Our Andrey has been accepted into boarding school in New York City," he says, and coughs. "He's leaving tomorrow morning, so say goodbye to him."

 

"This is a joke, right?" 

 

"Why would it be a joke? If  _you_ were as smart as Andrey, you could be the one going. But alas."

 

"Father... you never told me that he even  _applied_ for boarding school."

 

"I didn't think you needed to know."

 

Mary holds back tears.

 

In the morning, she hugs Andrey for as long as she can before he pulls away.

 

She skips school for the very first time in her life.

* * *

 

 

Dolokhov frowns and opens the chat app on his phone. His family turned off his texting and calling abilities  _years_ ago - a false accusation of cyberbullying, in reality Dolokhov was just protecting his best friend - and he's been using various other apps since. This time he's using Kik. Which is... probably a mistake.

 

 _Fierce ;) [12:33]:_ hey mary! where are you? you feeling okay?

 

She replies a few minutes later and saves Dolokhov from having a serious heart attack.

 

 _Mary Bolkonsky [12:34]:_ I'm at home. Something happened with Andrey. I can't come to school today.

 

 _Mary Bolkonsky [12:34]:_ Also: please change your display name. That's not appropriate.

 

 _Fierce ;) [12:35]:_ oh my god, what happened? is andrey okay?? do you need me to come over??????? is there anything i can do to help??

 

 _Fierce ;) [12:35]:_ and... okay. just for u.

 

 _Fedya Dolokhov [12:36]:_  there

 

 _Mary Bolkonsky [12:37]:_ Apparently Andrey applied for some prestigious boarding school in New York. No one told me. My father picked me up yesterday and told me that he was leaving and that was it. Now he's gone...

 

 _Fedya Dolokhov [12:38]:_ oh fuck mary i'm so so sorry. i'll kidnap you after school ends and we can get ice cream or something if you want. im so sorry

 

 _Mary Bolkonsky [12:39]:_ That would be nice!!! Fedya I'm sorry for involving you in all this, I just. Idk.

 

 _Fedya Dolokhov [12:40]_ : don't be sorry wtf i'm the one who asked & i just want 2 make sure yr okay. your father is an asshole and i hate him and i'd kick his ass if i could. and hey!! you can always skype andrey or call him on the phone and send letters and stuff

 

 _Mary Bolkonsky [12:41]:_ Yeah I guess. It just wouldn't be the same, you know???? But I really appreciate you being so kind to me, ily <3

 

 _Fedya Dolokhov: [12:42]:_ i love u too <3 anyway lunch is almost over and marya d. is staring at me with Those Eyes. you know the ones i'm talking about. so i gtg but i'll see you soon ok? hang in there. bye

 

[[ Fedya Dolokhov has changed his name to "Fierce and Very important ;)" ]]

 

 _Mary Bolkonsky [12:44]:_ DAMN IT

 

* * *

 

 

Mary presses her spoon into her banana split and crushes the banana. "I miss him already, Dolokhov."

 

Dolokhov has chocolate ice cream all over his face. Mary thinks it's the most endearing thing in the world. "I know," he says, "trust me, I know."

 

"What do I do?" she asks. Purposefully eats everything that isn't banana. 

 

On second thought: maybe ordering a banana split when you despise bananas is not a good idea.

 

"Well, what is there to do? You can either be sad about it forever, or you can move on."

 

"How do I move on?"

 

"Like I said, you send him letters and you call him and you hold a grudge against your father for the rest of your life and you just let it go. He's not going to be there forever."

 

"He graduates next year," says Mary. She throws her ice cream bowl across the room; it lands directly in the trash can and Dolokhov lets out a scream of  _go Mary._

 

"See?" he says. "He'll be back before you know it."

 

Mary smiles. Dolokhov is the most supportive presence in her life.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

There's a low wail coming from outside as they leave the ice cream shop. 

 

Whoever is making it sounds terrified and wounded. Whoever is making it sounds like they're grieving. 

 

Mary looks around for the source of it, until Dolokhov stops her - "It's not our business," he says. 

 

"But _—"_

 

"Let's go, okay?"

 

Mary sighs and follows him down the street.

 

The wailing grows louder.

 

"I think we should help them," Mary says, "if it were you crying, wouldn't you want someone to comfort you?"

 

"Okay, fine," Dolokhov says hesitantly. He folds his hands in front of him. "Let's split up. Do you have your phone on you in case something happens?"

 

"Yes, I'm fine," Mary says, "you're not my  _mom,_ Fedya. You're a sixteen year old boy. I think you sometimes forget that."

 

Dolokhov laughs, shakes his head, and leaves down the sidewalk.

 

Mary regrets it, slightly. This could be a trap. Maybe someone is fake-crying in the hopes that someone will try to find them and comfort them and they'll turn out to be a stalker or murderer or something. Maybe someone is trying to kill her. Maybe something bad will happen.

 

She stands up straighter and starts walking.

 

She checks behind the ice cream shop first - there's nothing there except a dumpster and a large bag that Mary hopes does not contain a dead body. She continues walking.

 

She checks the nearby park next. Some boys - probably college aged, from the looks of them and their ridiculousness - are throwing a party. Almost everyone is shirtless, and there are smashed beer bottles on the ground everywhere she walks... she continues walking. Away. Very, very far away.

 

There's a  _bing!_ on her phone about twenty minutes later.

 

**New Skype message from captain america's boyfriend!**

 

 _captain america's boyfriend [6:43]:_ hey i cant find it, lets meet back up at the ice cream shop and then go home

 

Mary sighs.

 

 _Buffy Summers' Wife [6:44]:_ Okay. 

 

* * *

 

Here's the problem: Mary is lactose intolerant.

 

She ate the ice cream anyways because Dolokhov was offering and Dolokhov is kind and today has been really fucking horrible. 

 

She's starting to really regret that decision.

 

Mary runs into the bathroom, clutching her stomach, when she sees it: Natasha, on the ice cream shop's bathroom floor with her head in her knees, surrounded by small ripped up pieces of toilet paper and several empty ice cream cups.

 

Shit. Mary can't exactly leave, but Natasha can't see her _—_

 

"Oh, God," Natasha says, and looks up, "I'm so sorry, this is embarrassing _—"_

 

"Oh, oh, hello," Mary says, because she can't think of anything else to say. "Um. Do you want me to... leave?"

 

Natasha rubs at her eyes. "You're Andrey's sister."

 

"Yes," Mary says. She tries her best to swallow the panic that's rising in her throat.

 

On second thought, that might not be panic.

 

She's never eating ice cream again.

 

"Why did he break up with me?"

 

"Andrey broke up with you?"

 

This... is news.

 

"Over  _text,_ " Natasha says.

 

Mary sits down next to her. "I'm so sorry."

 

"I  _never_ do things like this," Natasha says, "but I _loved_ Andrey."

 

"I understand," Mary says. "It's getting late, and my friend is waiting for me... I can't leave you alone here. Can I take you home?"

 

Natasha looks over at her. Her eyes widen slightly, and it's the most beautiful thing that Mary has ever seen.

 

How could Andrey do something like this?

 

"I don't want to bother you," she says.

 

"It's not a bother!" Mary says, almost suspiciously quickly. "You could never be a bother. I'm concerned. Will you please come?"

 

"Okay," she says slowly, and stands up. "Okay, thank you. You're a very kind person, Mary."

 

Mary no longer feels like she's going to throw up. Natasha called her  _kind._ Natasha is speaking to her. 

 

This is, simultaneously, the worst and best day of her life.

 


	3. fire, baby, love

 

When they arrive at school on Thursday morning, there are flyers on what seems like every wall in the entire building. They say _LGBT+ club_ in various colors of glitter glue.

 

Hélène obviously put a lot of work into these.

 

And math class, as always, is boring.

  


Dolokhov pretends to listen to Marya D.'s lesson, nods occasionally and scribbles things down in his notebook to make it look like he's taking notes. In reality, though, he's writing _Fedya Kuragin_ over and over. And over. And over.

 

He really needs to get over this.

 

It's not like Anatole could ever like him back. Anatole is straight and he has women falling all over him and Anatole is _straight_. He's heterosexual. He's completely, one-hundred-percent hetero.

 

Nothing is  _ever_ going to happen. He needs to accept this.

 

Anatole looks like he's fully immersed in the lesson.

 

Well. Dolokhov can't actually see his _face_ , but his head is buried in his notebook and he can see what's being written - Anatole is actually taking notes. Real notes. He's probably the only kid in class that's actually paying attention.

 

Anatole's hair looks especially nice today.

  
Dolokhov sighs, and attempts to focus on the lesson.

 

He has no chance with Anatole. He needs to accept this.

  


Anatole's head shoots up suddenly. "What?"

 

Apparently Dolokhov missed something, because Marya Dmitrievna is standing in front of Anatole's desk and looking at him expectantly.

 

"Can you answer the question for me,  Mr. Kuragin?"

  
"Thirty-two," Anatole says. "Thirty-two-point-five. Did I get it right?"

 

The entire class erupts in laughter. Dolokhov can't tell if they're laughing at his joke, or the fact that he doesn't seem to know the answer. Regardless: he wants to fight all of them. They're  _laughing_ at Anatole. 

 

"Very funny," says Marya. "So, you haven't been paying attention at all, I take it?"

 

"I have," Anatole says. There's a bit of fear in his voice. He shoves the notebook towards Marya. "Look, I have."

 

Marya studies the paper for a few seconds. "Meet me after class," she says.

 

"But-"

 

Marya continues the lesson without another word, as if nothing had happened. As if she hadn't humiliated Anatole in front of the entire class.

 

Dolokhov balls his fists underneath his desk. Imagines himself stronger and not trapped in this school - which is more like something straight out of Hell and its fire than an actual  _school._ He would fight Marya if he could, he would fight everyone in class if he could, but he can't. That would end badly, with an expulsion or jail, and Dolokhov can't deal with that.

 

He sighs and goes back to doodling. One day, maybe, Anatole will talk to him and this will all be over.

 

Today is not that day, though. Probably.

 

(He still doesn't have a chance with Anatole. He still needs to accept this.)

 

* * *

 

 

He finds Mary hovering in the hallway outside of Marya's classroom.

 

She's rocking on her feet, her hair is out of its usual bun and in her mouth. Soaking wet. Mary looks _terrified_.

 

Dolokhov approaches her and places a reassuring hand on her shoulder. He takes the hair out of Mary's mouth slowly, pulls her into a hug - she sinks into his chest and starts sobbing. He doesn't need to ask any questions. "Mary, why don't you go home? You obviously don't want to be here."

 

"I don't want to disappoint Hélène," Mary says. She pulls out of the hug, wipes her tears away, and stands up straighter as if she's willing herself to be stronger. Look stronger. Feel stronger.

 

"You kidding?" he says. "Hélène won't be disappointed. She'll understand. Come on, go home."

 

"Are you sure?"

 

"Positive. Besides, with the amount of posters Hélène put up, there'll probably be tons of kids here."

 

Mary smiles at him, a broken smile, and walks out of the halls with her head down and her hands grasped around the straps of her backpack like it's some kind of weapon. To her, it probably is. Dolokhov feels a sick ache for a moment - he  _hurt_ Mary, _scared_ her, all that he has ever wanted to do was make Mary happy - but he ignores it. He  _tries_ to ignore it.

 

He sighs and places a hesitant hand on the doorknob. It's freezing cold; Dolokhov should take this as a sign not to go in. He should run away. He should go after Mary. But he  _promised_ Hélène.

 

Dolokhov doesn't break promises.

 

He opens the door.

 

The first thing that he sees inside is Anatole Kuragin.

 

The next thing he sees is Hélène, arm around Sonya. Balaga, the strangest person that Dolokhov has ever met, holding hands with a girl that Dolokhov doesn't know the name of, and a guy that Dolokhov thinks he's seen around before but doesn't remember the name of. Two more girls. A very lonely looking guy with glasses.

 

And Natasha Rostova, who looks almost as terrified as Mary did.

 

Back to the most important thing about the meeting: Anatole. Anatole is talking to Marya, looking at the floor. He looks like he's about to cry. Dolokhov wishes that he was able to read lips.

 

He  _could_ go up to them. That's a thing that could happen. A possibility. Something that he could do.

 

It's not happening.

 

Hélène breaks with Sonya and rushes up to him, takes his hands - "I'm so glad you came!" Her nose wrinkles. "Where's Mary?"

 

"Mary's sick," Dolokhov says.

 

"Oh," Hélène sighs. "Shame. I was really looking forward to seeing her here. Maybe she'll come back next week."

 

"Maybe."

 

Dolokhov's eyes betray him; they shift back over to Anatole and Marya. Anatole still looks sad. Anatole still looks scared.

 

"I don't know why he's here," says Hélène, because apparently she caught him staring. "My brother... not the kind of person who comes to clubs like this."

 

"I figured," Dolokhov says, and laughs sadly. "Marya D. said she wanted to see him after class. I guess he's been here for a while."

 

Hélène frowns. "I'm going over there to see what's up. He looks like he's not doing so good."

 

"Okay."

 

She walks halfway over to the desk before turning around. "You could come with me, y'know. Since you're so curious."

 

"I don't..." 

 

Dolokhov stops. When Hélène gets something in her mind, she  _never_ lets it go.

 

He really doesn't want his first conversation with Anatole to be like  _this._ Like: "Hey, Anatole, you look like you're crying. I only know this because your sister made me come 'cause I'm gay and also in love with you and totally, completely in tune to all of your emotions. I will fight anyone who made you sad, and I said that without realizing how creepy it was. So how are you today?"

 

He sighs, again, and walks over with Hélène. His entire body betrays him. He shouldn't be doing this. He should have left with Mary. He doesn't break promises. He shouldn't be here—

 

Anatole turns to Hélène. His face is wet.

 

"Oh, Anatole," Hélène says, wiping his face, "what's wrong?"

 

"I don't particularly want to talk about it," Anatole says.

 

"Okay," Hélène nods, "well, if you ever  _do_ want to talk about it, I'm here to listen. And," she puts her arm around Dolokhov's shoulders, pushes him towards Anatole slightly, "so is Dolokhov."

 

Marya, from behind the desk, smiles. It's more than a little bit creepy, but also comforting in a weird way.

 

Anatole stares at him. Looks at him, up and down. 

 

Dolokhov is going to die.

 

"Aren't you Fedya," he says, "from behind me in math class? The same Fedya who I hear can name everything that happened in any given time period because he's  _that_ fierce and intelligent?"

 

Correction: Dolokhov is already dead. He's been dead since the beginning of time. He's never been alive.

 

"Well," Dolokhov says, "yes, that's me."

 

"You should tutor me in history," Anatole says, and smiles his fucking bright smile that makes Dolokhov feel like he's died a second time, "I'm kinda failing right now."

 

"Yeah," Dolokhov says. "I'd love to."

 

"I was joking," Anatole says,  _shit,_ "but how can I say no to someone who's so willing to help me? Especially someone as smart as you." This isn't happening. This can't be happening. Anatole is as handsome up close as at a distance and this _can't be happening._  "Anyway, so what are you doing here?"

 

Oh,  _no._ Dolokhov was afraid he'd say something like this.

_Fuck._

 

"I—"

 

"He's just here to keep Sonya company," Hélène says, "since I'll be running all over the place. Leading the meeting, and all that."

 

Dolokhov mouths  _thank you_ and Hélène nods back;  _no problem._

 

"Huh," Anatole says, and there's... disappointment in his voice? It's not disappointment. It  _can't_ be disappointment. "That's nice of you."

 

"Yes, he is _incredibly_ nice," Hélène says. She winks - Dolokhov isn't sure if she's winking at him or at Anatole. It's a very cryptic, fast wink, and Anatole — God, Anatole  _smiles._ At Dolokhov. Anatole is smiling at Dolokhov and the world is no longer horrible.

 

There's a very awkward silence until Anatole says: "Well. I should get going. It was nice meeting you, Dolokhov. That's what you go by, right?"

 

"Yes," Dolokhov says, "that - that, yeah. That's what I go by. It was nice meeting you too."

 

Anatole walks away.

 

Anatole walks away, and leaves Fedya Dolokhov a corpse.

 

* * *

 

 

Hélène walks up to the front of the room.

 

She picks up the whiteboard marker and writes  _INTRODUCTIONS_ on the board. Snaps the marker shut, places it back in its compartment, and Dolokhov, still recovering from The Interaction, shakes. He's been in many school clubs, and they all start with introductions.

 

He hates doing introductions. He hates talking about himself. And, right now, he thinks that if he speaks at all he'll say something completely ridiculous, like  _Anatole just talked to me and called me intelligent oh my God._

 

For obvious reasons, that cannot happen. That would end with Dolokhov leaving the country and moving somewhere odd like Russia where no one can ever talk to him again. 

 

"Alright," she says, "if you don't already know me, I'm Hélène Kuragin! I'm very bi, very in love with Sonya Rostova, and I'm also the one who formed this club! So I'm, for lack of a better term, the leader."

 

Sonya squeals from the back of the room, and Dolokhov takes a seat next to her. Hélène and Sonya are probably the world's cutest couple. _Extremely_ affectionate.

 

Dolokhov wants that kind of relationship with someone.

 

"So, why don't we start with some introductions? We'll go around the room and you'll tell me your name, age, pronouns, and a random fact about you that you don't think anyone knows. I'll start..."

 

He stops listening and pulls out his phone. 

 

 _captain america's boyfriend [3:30]:_ hey mary. just thought u should know that natasha is here?????????? natasha is here. and she looks really happy today. 

 _captain america's boyfriend [3:30]:_ OH ALSO

 _captain america's boyfriend [3:31]:_ guess!!! what!!!!! just!!!!!!! happened!!!!!!!

 

 _Buffy Summers' Wife [3:32]:_ Hey! I just got home. Sadly. Anyways, oh my gosh I'm so glad that she looks happy. I wonder what she's doing there??? 

 _Buffy Summers' Wife [3:32]:_ WAIT WHAT HAPPENED OMG

 

 _captain america's boyfriend [3:33]:_ idk what she's doing here but! mary!!!! //anatole// happened. i'm still shaking

 

 _Buffy Summers' Wife [3:33]:_ What do you mean?

 

 _captain america's boyfriend [3:34]:_ i just talked to anatole. and he called me 'fierce and intelligent' mary i'm fuckign screaming oh my GOD

 

 _Buffy Summers' Wife [3:34]:_ OH MY GOD OH MY GOD

 _Buffy Summers' Wife [3:34]:_ THIS IS AMAZING

 _Buffy Summers' Wife [3:34]:_ I'm so so so SO happy for you!!!!!!! 

 

He starts to type a reply - something like  _ill tell you everything when i get out it was amazing -_ but he's stopped by the realization that the entire room is staring at him.

 

"Dolokhov," Hélène says, "it's your turn."

 

"Oh," he says, "um. Uh. I'm Anat— I'm _Dolokhov_. Sixteen years old. He pronouns. I can't really think of anything right now. I'm not that important and my life is really boring, so. You know."

 

 _God._ He almost said that his name was Anatole. Today is horrible. Today is the best day of his life, but it's also really fucking horrible.

 

"You  _are_ important," Hélène says, biting her lip, "but okay."

 

She moves on to Balaga and he exhales. Unlocks his phone again (the password is, unsurprisingly, Kuragin. Shut up.), and types out a reply.

 

He finds six notifications.

 

**New Skype message from Buffy Summers' Wife!**

 

**New Skype message from Buffy Summers' Wife!**

 

**New Skype message from Buffy Summers' Wife!**

 

**New Skype message from Buffy Summers' Wife!**

 

**New Skype message from Buffy Summers' Wife!**

 

**New Skype message from just for fun ;))!**

 

He opens the one from 'just for fun ;))' first - it says  _come on dude, pay attention. stop texting that hot blonde guy i know you're totally into and pay attention!!!!!! what if u mess up someone's pronouns cuz u weren't listening?_

 

His head shoots up and he scans the room. Balaga, from next to him, winks.

 

 _captain america's boyfriend [3:48]:_ i am NOT into anatole!!! i dont even know him !!!!!!! and okay im not even gonna ask how u knew my skype name... but okay im putting it away now

 

He slips his phone back into his backpack.

 

It's going to be a very long meeting.

 

* * *

  


 

Someone's hand taps lightly on Dolokhov as he picks his skateboard up. 

 

(He's never been good at skateboarding, but it  _looks_ cool. Shut  _up._ )

 

He turns defensively. "What -  _oh._ "

 

It's Natasha.

 

"You're Mary's friend, right? I'm sorry for startling you."

 

"Yes, I'm Mary's friend," Dolokhov says nonchalantly. He wants to  _leave._ He wants to  _go._ Home. Back to Mary. Mary, who is home. He doesn't want to be here. He just wants to get as far away from the school as possible.

 

He's not exactly sure  _why._

 

It's been a good day.

 

His first instinct when he has good days is to  _run._

 

He's very flawed.

 

"How is she doing?" 

 

"She's doing great."

 

"Can you, um," she says, wraps her hair around her finger, looks down at the pavement, "tell her hi for me? Just tell her that I'm really glad we met and stuff and that she helped me when Andrey — yeah. Can you tell her that? And that I'd like to see her again?"

 

Dolokhov smiles, thinks about the happiness that will be on Mary's face when he tells her about this - about Natasha and her kindness and how much she wants to see Mary again.

 

This is probably the best day of his entire life.

 

"Of course."


	4. lost in darkness (you're my focus)

_Fierce and Very Important ;):_ HEY 

_Fierce and Very Important ;):_ GET ON SKYPE & SKYPE ME IMMEDIATELY

 

_Mary Bolkonsky:_ My dad is asleep... so I can't... what's up? Is everything ok?

 

_Fierce and Very Important ;):_ its about natasha

 

_Mary Bolkonsky is typing..._

 

_Mary Bolkonsky is typing..._

 

_Mary Bolkonsky is typing..._

 

_Mary Bolkonsky:_ I'm in the basement now. Calling in a moment.

 

* * *

 

Mary's Skype avatar is a picture of them from eighth grade graduation. Mary's father had forced her to wear a dress, and Mary loves dresses but  _hates_ anything that her father forces her to do, so Dolokhov brought some of his older, smaller clothes for her to change into — it's a good memory. A comforting memory. It's a picture that he looks at on bad days. He had it printed out at a pharmacy and it's the only picture that he has in his entire room, the only picture that's  _his_ in his entire house.

 

Mary doesn't turn her video on.

 

"So," Mary says — her microphone is shaky and her voice is in a low, fearful whisper. "What happened?"

 

"Natasha was there at the club meeting," Dolokhov tells her, lowering his voice to a whisper as well. He knows what Mary's father is like;  _bad things_ will happen if he gets woken up from his sleep.

 

One day, Dolokhov will  _end_ him.

 

"You told me that."

 

"On my way out, she stopped me," he says, "and said that she wanted me to tell you she's glad the two of you met. Oh, also, she wants to get together with you again."

 

There's a small squeal from Mary's end, and then a louder one, and then there's a  _bang_ which Dolokhov assumes is Mary covering her mouth with her hand. He can hear her heavy breathing. "That's—" she says, a little bit too loudly, and stops. Breathes again. "That's so... I don't have words."

 

"I know!" he says. A small screech of excitement escapes his throat. "I  _know._ This is so great."

 

"So," she says, "tell me about what happened with Anatole."

 

He goes on to tell her everything, from how beautiful Anatole's hair was to the way his lips curled into a smile around  _someone as smart as you._ Describes how handsome Anatole is in too much detail, describes how he felt in  _way_ too much detail.

 

For  _hours,_ until Mary says, tired, "I've... sleep.... now. Sorry."

 

"It's cool," says Dolokhov, "have sweet dreams and all that."

 

"You too," Mary says, and the  _call ended_ sound plays. The picture disappears from his screen.

 

Dolokhov sighs and sinks into his bed.

 

"Thank you," he says to whoever's listening. Angels. God. Anyone. The divine being that made this happen.

 

He swears, for a moment, that someone says  _you're welcome_ back. Then he falls asleep.

 

* * *

 

 

The next day they're serving fish sticks at lunch again.

 

Mary walks in holding a pizza box. She's the best person on this earth. She's his savior.

 

"Thank you  _so much,_ " he says, and then: "Come on, get over here so no one sees you with that."

 

She sets the pizza down on the table and opens it - half cheese, half everything. Just the way they both like it. Mary has been a vegetarian since fifth grade, when everyone else in their class (besides Dolokhov, because no one can tell him what to do) went vegetarian because — popularity, or something. It's hard to remember. Mary stayed as such after everyone decided it was boring, because she — apparently — did "a bunch of research and I can't believe what happens oh gosh Dolokhov this is so horrible".

 

Mary is probably the most thoughtful person in the world.

 

"Now, Dolokhov," she says with a smile, "do you think it's possible for the two of us to eat this entire thing in forty-five minutes?"

 

"Is that even a question?" he replies, and scoops up three slices at once. 

 

She sits and eats a slice in what Dolokhov  _swears_ is one big bite.

 

How the  _hell,_ he wonders, does she manage to be like this? This smart and amazing and talented?

 

It's... not humanly possible. His best friend is an alien.

 

"So," he says, food still in his mouth, "how's Andrey doing in N.Y.C? Have you talked to him lately?"

 

Mary shakes her head. "No, I've been meaning to call but I haven't yet."

 

"Talked to anyone—" he stops and coughs  _Natasha_ "—lately?"

 

"I haven't had time," she says, "it's been a  _day._ One day. And besides, I'm... gonna let her come to me. You know, so I don't seem so desperate and interested."

 

"That'll last for about five minutes," Dolokhov laughs.

 

"I can do it!" she exclaims. "I can do it, trust me. I can keep myself away from Natasha until she comes to see me! The better question is: can  _you_ keep  _yourself_ away from Anatole?"

 

"I can  _totally_ keep myself away from Anatole."

 

"Then let's make a pact," says Mary, "it'll be like... I stay away from Natasha until she comes to me, and you stay away from Anatole until he comes to you. If one of us approaches our respective crushes, then the pact is broken."

 

She holds her fist out. "Deal?"

 

Dolokhov presses his fist to hers. Pulls it back and flutters his fingers. " _Deal._ "

 

Inside, he thinks:  _I can do this. I can do this!_

 

He catches a glimpse of blond hair from across the cafeteria.

 

Inside, he thinks:  _shit, I can't do this._

 

"You're looking at him," Mary says.

 

"Am not."

 

"You are."

 

"I'm not!"

 

"You are."

 

"...okay,  _maybe._ "

 

Mary smiles and shoves another slice of pizza in her mouth.

 

He can do this. He can do this! Fedya Dolokhov is fierce (and intelligent) and he can  _do this._

 

* * *

 

 

He can't do this.

 

He's in math class and they're learning about... something boring... and Anatole's head is, once again, in his notebook. Marya Dmitrievna is staring at Anatole — no. Shit. Marya Dmitrievna is staring at  _him._

 

He looks down at his own paper and starts scribbling. No  _Fedya Kuragin_ this time, because he's trying his best to banish all thoughts of Anatole from his mind.

 

(Which is really hard to accomplish when Anatole is sitting in front of him and his jacket is  _way_ too big for him and—)

 

Marya is giving him Those Eyes.

 

Maybe  _this_ is why he's failing math. The fact that he's not even trying to learn at all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The bell rings and saves his life. Saves his entire soul from decaying from boredom.

 

He's almost away, almost free, almost in the hallway, when he hears: "Mr. Dolokhov," and his heart stops.

 

He turns.

 

"And Mr. Kuragin. Please stay. I need to speak to you."

 

"I'll be late for French," says Dolokhov stupidly, "and you know what happens when you're late in her class, so..."

 

"I'll write you a pass," she says, "this is important. Please come."

 

"I've got art next," Anatole says, "so I can't—"

 

Marya stares at him, straight into his inner being.

 

Anatole walks to her. Sighs. "Yes?"

 

"Mr. Dolokhov."

 

Dolokhov approaches the other side of her desk, tries his best to stay away from Anatole. 

 

He can't do this.

 

He can't do this.

 

He  _can't._

 

"I'm here," he says. "What is it?"

 

"I'm—" she stops and looks up at the ceiling. Pauses for a moment. "I have an —  _assignment._ For you."

 

"I'm sorry, I can bring my grade up, I  _swear,_ please don't—"

 

"Not that kind of assignment," Marya laughs. "This one is optional. It will bring your grade up significantly if you accept, though."

 

Dolokhov's eyes widen. "Of course I accept."

 

She turns to Anatole and back to Dolokhov. "Would you mind tutoring Anatole for a while?"

 

Dolokhov's head tilts slightly; this can't be happening. For a number of reasons. Like the fact that he's failing math. Completely flunking. Also, the fact that Marya Dmitrievna wants him to tutor the person he's supposed to be staying away from.

 

"You're kidding."

 

"I'm not."

 

"But I'm  _failing,_ " he says, "why? Why  _me?_ "

 

"Because I  _know_ you can do it," says Marya, "I've seen your past work. You're intelligent. Before this year, you got impeccable grades in mathematics. You're just distracted."

 

Anatole looks like he's on the verge of tears again — Dolokhov wants to say something like  _don't cry_ or  _it's okay,_ something reassuring, but the words don't come out. He's supposed to be staying away from Anatole. He can't do this. He  _can't do this._

 

"I don't want a tutor," Anatole says, "I can learn on my own. I'm not st—"

 

"No one said you were stupid," Marya interrupts. "You just need a little help, that's all."

 

She smiles at Dolokhov. Dolokhov feels sick. "So, are you willing to tutor him or not?"

 

"I—"

 

He looks at Anatole. There are a few tears on his face.

 

"Yeah, sure."

 

Anatole inhales sharply. He wipes at his eyes. Dolokhov feels  _sick._

 

"Excellent! Come in every Monday after school ends. Just for a while, so I can keep an eye on you and make sure you're actually working. Then you can move onto... wherever."

 

"Okay," Anatole says, and makes a sad attempt at composing himself. "Anything else?"

 

"Get to your classes," Marya says with a wink. 

 

Anatole runs out of the classroom; when Dolokhov tries to discreetly run after him, Anatole is gone. Lost in the crowd, a bunch of bland faces that seem to blur together. They're not Anatole. None of them are Anatole, so none of them matter.

 

He sighs and continues to French.

 

He can't do this. He  _knows_ that he can't do it, but pushes the thought to the back of his mind.

 

(It's not breaking the pact, he decides, if your teacher is the one who puts you with your crush. It's  _technically_ breaking the pact if she gives you a choice and you agree to it, but that part will conveniently not come up in conversation.)


	5. so i put my faith in something unknown

After French (also boring), there are a few minutes in-between classes. He uses this valuable time to message Mary.

 

 _captain america's boyfriend [2:04]:_ so !!!!! the weirdest thing just happened

 _captain america's boyfriend [2:04]:_ so marya d held me after class,,,,,,,,,, and anatole,,,,,,,,

 

Dolokhov waits for an excited reply. And waits. And waits. And waits.

 

Mary doesn't message him back.

 

 _captain america's boyfriend [2:07]:_ basically she forced me to tutor him ????????? and now every monday after school we're going to be together

 

Still no reply.

 

 _captain america's boyfriend [2:10]:_ maaaaaaary

 _captain america's boyfriend [2:11]:_ also i made out with anatole in the bathroom

 

No reply.

 

 _captain america's boyfriend [2:13]:_ ok that didnt actually happen i just wanted yr attention.................... 

 _captain america's boyfriend [2:13]:_ well message me when u can, im late for class

 _captain america's boyfriend [2:13]:_ ily! 

 

He slides his phone back into his pocket.

 

After Biology, school will be over, and he'll be free.

 

He can do this.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It's 1:08 in the morning when there's a knock at his window.

 

He's not asleep because who the hell can sleep after something like  _that -_  rather, he's on his bed with his laptop and a half-eaten pizza slice that's been sitting on the pillow next to him for days. He curls his hand around the plate as if it's a weapon, and then realizes that that's ridiculous and he's really, really  _tired._

 

The knocking continues.

 

He thinks that he should be concerned about the fact that it's the middle of the night and someone's probably trying to break into the house but he's too tired to care or process it.

 

Then there's a faint  _it's Mary, open up_ from outside. Almost inaudible.

 

He opens the window immediately and Mary climbs through.

 

"What are you doing here?"

 

 _"_ My father is asleep," she says, "and I got your messages and figured I could come over for a few hours without him knowing."

 

"You know how much I hate your father. Even thinking about him makes me furious."

 

Mary frowns. Her face wrinkles. "He's an old man, Fedya," she says, "it's just how he is. It's just... how things are. He's old and frail and I don't judge him for the way he acts."

 

She sits down, cross-legged, on the bed next to him.

 

"That's nice," he says, "but, see, I'm a different person and I definitely do judge him."

 

Mary laughs sadly. Then: "So now you're going to be spending every Monday afternoon with Anatole," she says to change the subject, and that's that.

 

"Looks like it."

 

"And Marya Dmitrievna  _forced_  you to tutor him."

 

"Yes."

 

Mary raises her eyebrows for a moment. Then they fall and she nods, understandingly, at him. Something like  _okay_. Something like  _that's wonderful_. Something nice and excited because she's Mary Bolkonsky, sweetest girl on the planet-and-the-entire-universe.

 

She takes a look around his room. "Dolokhov," she says, and the Anatole conversation is apparently over, "when was the last time you cleaned in here?"

 

Dolokhov shrugs. "Since the last time you cleaned it?"

 

Mary sighs a that's-my-ridiculous-best-friend-why-do-I-love-him-so-much sigh. "Are your parents home?"

 

"No, they flew to Utah for a few days."

 

A lie. He doesn’t know where they are. He’s been alone for – too long.

 

"I'll make some coffee and raid your kitchen for cleaning supplies."

 

"Oh,  _God_ , no—"

 

"We're cleaning your room tonight."

  
  
Something is  _wrong._  
 

 

* * *

 

By Monday his room is spotless and organized and so disgustingly  _clean_ that it makes Dolokhov uncomfortable. Here's the thing: he was too tired to realize, but Mary cleans when something is wrong. Mary cleans when she's distraught or hurt, and Dolokhov is going to  _fight_ whatever hurt her.

 

He tries to ask her about it at lunch but she ignores him, digs into her salad (finally they're serving something  _other_ than fish sticks, how  _disgusting_ ), and leaves lunch three minutes before the bell rings.

 

It — it  _can't_ be something that he did. Can it? Can it? Can it? No.

 

It can't.

 

He's done absolutely nothing wrong.

 

_Nothing._

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Anatole isn't in math class.

 

Dolokhov skips when he finds out, ducks into the hallway and messages Hélène.

 

 _captain america's boyfriend [1:02]:_  hey helene, wheres ur brother??????

 

 _Hélène Rostova [1:04]:_  Isn't he with you? In class? Where he's supposed to be?

 

 _captain america's boyfriend [1:04]:_  no he's not here. this is weird 

 

 _Hélène Rostova [1:06]:_ I dont know what to tell you tbh. The thought of my brother actually skipping math class amuses me. Like you know. He skips literally every other class except that one and idk why... Anyways I gtg but if you find him lmk

 

 _captain america's boyfriend [1:06]:_  ok sorry for bothering u bye

 

Dolokhov sighs. He  _could_ go back to math, but:  _why._ Why? What's the point of it?

 

There's nothing for him in math class right now except the sinking feeling of failure, Marya Dmitrievna's misplaced faith in him, and an empty desk in front of his. Anatole's desk is empty which means that Dolokhov's entire self is empty.

 

He's going to  _find Anatole._

 

He's going to find Anatole, and — and — he hasn't worked out what he's going to do  _after_ he finds Anatole, yet. He'll do something. In his mind he pictures himself finding Anatole and taking him back to class, arms linked. In his mind he pictures himself finding Anatole and he pictures Anatole convincing him to leave, to go somewhere. A gas station, maybe. A park. Somewhere very, very far away.

 

He's going to find Anatole.

 

He'll work everything out later.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He checks the bathrooms first, calls out Anatole's name before realizing how weird it is to call out someone's name in a bathroom. There's no response. No one in the stalls. He walks out hesitantly.

 

He walks through every hall — a mistake, since the school is huge. A vast, winding sort of dystopian hellscape. He could go out of the school's double doors, leave school, escape, go — where? Where  _would_ he go? His house is empty and  _clean._ No one is home. His best friend is hurt and in another class. He's always been afraid to go out alone. He usually has Mary with him. The city is an even bigger dystopian hellscape, just full of more faceless, unimportant people. Exactly like high-school. The city will eat him.

 

There is nowhere for him to go. Not really. 

 

He opens up one of the double doors, breath heavy in his chest, and sits down on one of the benches outside. There is nowhere for him to go.

 

He starts digging around in his backpack for something. He's not sure what he's looking for. His backpack is an endless void that's probably messier than his room was. He hasn't cleaned it out in... a while. Too long.

 

His hands settle around his math notebook. He pulls it out, stares at all of the  _Fedya Kuragin_ s... there's a strange sense of  _what the fuck have I done, I really fucked up_ bubbling inside of him. What the fuck has he done? What the fuck was he thinking, skipping class like this? What the fuck was he thinking, running around school looking for one boy? Why the fuck did he agree to tutor Anatole?

 

He broke the pact.

 

He really messed up.

 

He closes the notebook and sets it next to him.

 

Then he realizes that he's literally having an existential crisis on a school bench, and tells himself that everything will  _stop._

 

He can have an existential crisis anywhere else. At home. At the ice cream shop. In the park.  _Anywhere else._

 

Just not here.

 

He really,  _really_ fucked up.

 

"I really fucked up," he says, out loud, to no one in particular.

 

Then someone says "what's wrong?" and he has a heart attack at age sixteen.

 

Anatole is sitting behind him on the ground.

 

Oh. So he found Anatole. It's a very anticlimactic end to this quest.

 

"Nothing," he says quickly, and then composes himself enough to ask, "What're you doing here?"

 

"Nothing," Anatole replies, even quicker.

 

Dolokhov stares at him. Something is very wrong.

 

"C'mon," he says, "okay, I'll tell you my secret if you tell me yours."

 

"We're not in kindergarten anymore, Dolokhov," Anatole replies. "I don't want to talk about it."

 

"I was looking for you," Dolokhov says. "I'm here because I was looking all over for you and then I couldn't find you, so..."

 

Part of him hopes that seeing the sincerity in Dolokhov's words will make Anatole trust him, and another part is screaming  _shut up! Shut up._

 

So.

 

"Really?" Anatole asks.

 

"Really."

 

 Anatole sighs. He moves closer to Dolokhov, whispers, "Okay, do you promise not to tell anyone?"

 

"I promise," Dolokhov nods.

 

"I..." Anatole looks like he's about to cry again. "I skipped class, 'cause... they said they were going to pull me out. To do some testing."

 

"Testing for what?"

 

"They think I've got a learning disability," he says and squeezes his eyes shut. "Diss-cal-cue-lee-a."

 

Anatole's lips tremble. Anatole's entire body trembles.

 

Dolokhov shoves everything back in his backpack and sits down next to him. He places a hand on Anatole's shoulder, hesitant - Anatole lets it stay there, sinks into it slightly. He's never seen Anatole tremble like this before. He's never seen Anatole this  _scared_ before.

 

Dolokhov wants to help him, wants to crawl inside of whatever's going on in his mind right now and say:  _it's okay. It's alright, Anatole, I'm here. It's alright, Anatole, **I'm here.**_

 

"Oh," is all that he says, and then it truly sets in, " _oh._ "

 

"Do you," Anatole says, quiet, "hate me?"

 

"Of course not," Dolokhov says, snapping himself back from the thoughts of Anatole's mind. "I could never hate you."

 

"But I'm—"

 

"You're the same Anatole. You're exactly the same. You don't have to be ashamed."

 

Anatole smiles the same kind of smile you'd see on Mary when her father is mentioned. Then he looks down at Dolokhov's hand and Dolokhov pulls away like he's touched fire. Again: what the  _fuck_ was he thinking? Touching Anatole like that. What was he thinking. The answer is probably this: he wasn't thinking. Anatole just told him something obviously personal, and he put his  _hand on Anatole's shoulder,_ and he _wasn't thinking._

 

"You're a good friend," Anatole says, and Dolokhov wonders if he remembers the fact that they've only spoken once. Still: he called Dolokhov his  _friend._ Friend.  **Friend.**

 

"Thank you," Dolokhov says. "I try my best."

 

"Oh," Anatole says, "I've been meaning to ask you something."

 

"Yes?"

 

"What do you think of Captain America?"

 

"What —"

 

_Oh._

 

All of the terror on Anatole's face has vanished. 

 

Dolokhov is dead. 

 

"He's - you know. An okay guy."

 

"Uh-huh," Anatole nods. "So you're not his boyfriend?"

 

"Who told you my Skype name?" he says quickly. This can't be happening. This cannot be happening. Anatole wasn't supposed to—

 

"Balaga did."

 

"I'm going to kill him."

 

"No, no, don't kill him. I—"

 

There are only two courses of action that you can take in a situation like this.

 

One: Dolokhov could run. Dolokhov could stand up and take his backpack and run into the city. He's always been afraid of the city — it will eat him — but running feels like a good option. He could go with his earlier plan and move to Russia.

 

(There is nowhere for him to go.)

 

Two: he can stand his ground and face Anatole. He can face Anatole's rejection and all of the gross comments that he'll probably make. He can deal with it.

 

His body decides on something between the two, because it jerks backward slightly for a moment, palms on the ground to lift him up, before realizing that there is nowhere for him to go. He can't run from this. Running is a pathetic thing to do and Fedya Dolokhov is  _fierce._

 

"I'm sorry," Dolokhov says pathetically. (Damn.)

 

"Hey, don't be sorry. I think it's kinda funny."

 

Dolokhov stares at him for a moment. "So, you're not going to, like, make fun of me or anything?"

 

Anatole laughs like Dolokhov just said something horribly stupid. Like Dolokhov just said something  _horrible._  

 

Anatole has bounced back into his usual overly-confident self.

 

Dolokhov shudders.

 

"What kind of person do you think I am, Dolokhov?" he asks. "I'm very supportive of my sister. And I've been—"

 

Anatole stops, looks down at the ground like he's about to tell Dolokhov another secret. 

 

"What?"

 

"Never-mind," Anatole says, and then: "I should probably go. The bell is gonna ring soon and I want to make it to art before everyone comes out and the halls become a clusterfuck. It's been nice talking to you."

 

"Nice talking to you too," Dolokhov says.

 

Anatole leaves. Dolokhov should probably leave, too. He should probably go back inside and find his French class; his teacher will behead him if he's even a minute late. But: what can she do? What can she truly  _do?_ Call his parents? They're gone. Talk to the principal? The principal doesn't give a shit. The principal hates his job. Give him detention?  _Maybe,_ but he's had detention a billion times. 

 

There is nothing she can do to hurt him.

 

(He stays.

 

There is nowhere for him to go.)

 

(After school is over he will go to Marya Dmitrievna's classroom, and Anatole will pretend that nothing happened.

 

Things will be normal again.)


	6. buy the stars

Mary stands up and smooths her dress - logically, she knows that she shouldn't be this depressed. Logically she knows that it isn't a big deal. Logically she knows that this is  _wrong._

 

Her mind has never been a big fan of logic.

 

She leaves English thinking about Anatole, thinking about Dolokhov, thinking about Dolokhov-and-Anatole as one. She leaves English thinking about Natasha Rostova. She leaves English thinking about - well. She leaves English thinking about everything that she doesn't have.

 

It's  _ridiculous._ It's absolutely  _ridiculous._

 

And yet.

 

She's happy that Anatole and Dolokhov get to spend time together. Her best friend is happy, and the only thing that she has ever wanted in life is Dolokhov's happiness. It's just - Natasha. Natasha is walking on the other side of the hall with Sonya. Natasha is on the other side of the hall, engaged in what looks like a deep conversation with her cousin, and Mary sinks. Natasha.  _Natasha_ is the problem.

 

Mary isn't jealous. Jealousy is vicious, and "jealous" is a vicious word. A better word for this feeling would be longing. A better word for this feeling would be empty. There isn't a word that describes this perfectly; it's dread inside of her, it's sickness, it's something in her stomach screaming things like  _he's happy I want that happiness he gets Anatole and I get nothing Natasha said she wanted to see me again but she hasn't talked to me she hasn't even made an effort—_

 

Natasha, from across the hall, disappears into room 200.

 

Inside her mind she imagines scenarios where Natasha comes up to her and they talk. Inside her mind she imagines scenarios where they're thrown together like Anatole and Dolokhov were.

 

She  _could_ go up to Natasha. She  _could_ talk to Natasha first. She  _could._ She  **could.** She could!

 

But she won't. She considers it, for a mere moment, before her mind - the same faulty mind that ignores logic and fantasizes - says  _no. The pact. Remember the pact?_

 

Oh, right, the pact.

 

She doesn't have a chance with Natasha. She needs to accept this.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The first thing that he notices is the fact that Anatole's much-too-big-for-him jacket has been shed and wrapped around his waist, and the second thing that he notices is that Anatole — somehow — has changed clothes since their encounter. He walks in like he hadn't skipped class for a breakdown. He walks in like he's Anatole, Greatest Person In The World (and, okay, he is) That Everyone Should Bow To (and, okay, they should). He walks in and Marya Dmitrievna looks up slightly from her laptop, bites her lip, and looks back down. Types something on the keyboard. He walks in and ignores Marya Dmitrievna's cold eyes.

 

Dolokhov, however, is not this lucky.

 

He stumbles into the classroom after Anatole, eyes on the floor, eyes definitely not on Anatole and his backpack (how the hell did he even have time to change his clothes,  _what_ ), eyes looking very, very far away from Marya Dmitrievna.

 

Dolokhov stumbles into the classroom and Marya slams her laptop shut. "You two," she says.

 

Dolokhov exchanges a glance with Anatole; it says something like  _oh, shit._

 

"Do you want to explain to me," she says, and stands up, "why you were not in class earlier, and why you're here now?"

 

"At least we're here," Anatole says. He smiles — Dolokhov isn't sure if Anatole is smiling sincerely at him, or smiling cockily at Marya. Either way: Anatole is smiling, which is a big step up from what happened earlier.

 

"Yes," she says coldly. "At least you are here." She gestures vaguely to the two desks in the back of the room. "You two can start. Linear equations. We'll deal with it later."

 

Dolokhov and Anatole exchange another inexplicable and long glance before they move to the desks. 

 

"So," Anatole says, and unwraps his jacket from his waist (oh,  _God_ ), puts it back on. He sits down, obviously unaware that he's really,  _really_ attractive and just caused Dolokhov's heart to stop beating.

 

(On second thought: maybe he does know that he's attractive. He acts like he's been voted Sexiest Man Alive by some magazine and knows that everyone in the  _world,_ practically, has a thing for him.)

 

(Damn him.)

 

"So," Dolokhov replies and sits down next to him. "Linear equations."

 

"Linear equations," Anatole says back. He pulls out his textbook and notebook, and they're off — Anatole does a lot of nodding and says a lot of  _okay_ s. Dolokhov thinks for a moment that maybe Anatole isn't paying attention, but he's so  _close_ and smells so good and —

 

Anyways.

 

Linear equations.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Marya kicks them out exactly an hour and a half later, with a growl of  _what are we gonna tell your parents, eh? They will hear about this_ and another cold look that's somehow colder than the last. Marya Dmitrievna stares straight into their souls, and rips their souls out violently.  _What are we gonna tell your parents?_ Well, Marya Dmitrievna, here's something to consider:  _no one cares._

 

Dolokhov shudders. He picks up his skateboard and gets ready to leave, to finally,  _finally leave,_ when someone pulls at his wrist.

 

It's Anatole.

 

 _Fuck,_ it's Anatole.

 

"Hey, wait," Anatole says, "I wanted to ask you something."

 

"What is it?" Dolokhov asks tentatively, pulling away from Anatole's touch because it's  _terrifying._ Anatole's hand on his wrist - terrifying. It's all terrifying.

 

"My sister, Hélène, and her girlfriend are throwing a party tonight."

 

"That's nice."

 

" _And_ I think you should come."

 

"You—"

 

Dolokhov stops; his skateboard falls to the ground. It's embarrassing. Anatole is asking him to come to a party. Anatole Kuragin, the boy who he has been in love with since the beginning of time, is asking him to come to a party.

 

This can't be happening.

 

"You want me to come," he says, "to a party. With you. And your sister. And Sonya."

 

"Yes, that is what I'm saying." Anatole face falls. "Is there a problem?"

 

"No. There's no problem. Okay, sure. I'll come."

 

"Excellent! I'll, uh, Skype you the address. It's at Sonya's place, so... anyways, that's all. You can go now. I look forward to seeing you there."

 


	7. one life with one dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [this](http://publicifashion.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/01/Petite-Navy-Blue-Lace-Cocktail-Dress.jpg) is mary's dress!

 He prepares his best pouty begging face. There is absolutely no _way_ he’s going to Anatole’s party alone. Things could happen. Bad things. _Good_ things. Dolokhov isn’t sure which is worse.

 

He needs Mary for support.

 

Mary’s house is huge and beautiful. He doesn’t think or care about architecture often, but it seems perfectly built and designed. The front door has a doorknocker shaped like a lion’s head. A _doorknocker._

 

They even have a _garden._

 

Dolokhov isn’t used to things like this.

 

He knocks on the door.

 

No one answers.

 

Mary’s bike is in the driveway, which means that she’s home – she can’t be _ignoring_ him, can she? Mary is wonderful and good and she would never _ignore_ someone.

 

What is he doing? Really, what is he _doing?_ He’s going to spend time with Anatole, who, Dolokhov decided, is The One. The love of his life. He’s going to spend time with Anatole and he’s going to bring his best friend along because…

 

Why?

 

It isn’t a date. It shouldn’t feel this weird.

 

It’s just a platonic party invite.

 

He isn’t—

 

The door swings open.

 

“Mary—”

 

Mary walks out and takes him by the shoulders. “Oh my gosh,” she says, “I’m so sorry, I just saw you and Anatole and thought about Natasha and I got jealous. I’m sorry for ignoring you at lunch, I—”

 

“It’s okay!” he interrupts. “It’s completely fine. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

 

Mary looks up at him. “Wait, what are you doing here?”

 

Dolokhov forgets how to do his pouty begging face. Mary is staring at him and – well. How can he ask Mary to come with him after that confession? He’s an absolute _asshole._ He’s a major dick.

 

He can go to Anatole’s party alone. He will deal.

 

“Nothing,” he says dumbly.

 

Mary gives him That Look. The one that Marya Dmitrievna gives every student in her class. He is very familiar with this look.

 

“Fedya.”

 

He sighs. “Okay, I wanted to ask you something, but never-mind. It’ll make me seem inconsiderate. I’m going to leave now.”

 

“ _Fedya._ ”

 

“Fine,” he says, giving in, because Mary is so hard to resist when she’s like this, “I just… Anatole invited me to Hélène’s party. And for obvious reasons, I don’t want to go alone.”

 

He expects another _Fedya_ or another one of the looks, because he’s paranoid and weak, but all that Mary does is squeal.

 

“I’ll go with you!” she says.

 

“Really?”

 

“Of course,” she says and winks. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

 

“Thank you _so_ much. Do you need me to help you get ready?”

 

“Wait, it’s—”

 

“In a few hours. Yeah.”

 

Mary smiles her warm smile. She opens the door. “Come on in.”

 

* * *

 

Mary, being Mary, apparently has hidden an entire second wardrobe full of clothing underneath her bed. Clothing that’s different than her usual Boring Long Dress or Boring Shirt and Boring Skirt combination.

 

How the hell did he not know about this?

 

She pulls out four dresses, throws them onto her bed. “Look through those and tell me which one you think is the cutest. But not too cute. I still have to maintain modesty.”

 

“Contrary to popular opinion,” he says, “I don’t know shit about fashion. You’re playing into stereotypes.”

 

Mary laughs. Dolokhov laughs.

 

He picks up one of them. It’s black with red lace; it would make Mary look like the living dead.

 

Next.

 

The second one is pink and has a peter pan collar – it’s decidedly better than the last one, but still not perfect. She has to look _perfect._

 

Next.

 

The third one is strapless and paisley – _no._ No. Absolutely not. Never.

 

Next.

 

The fourth and final one—

 

The fourth one is beautiful. It’s navy with lace sleeves. It’s so completely _Mary._

 

“This one,” he says.

 

Mary turns to him and – oh. Oh. She’s wearing dark makeup, and it’s perfectly applied and beautiful and she’s _beautiful._ He’s never seen her in makeup before. She’s ethereal.

 

“You like that one?” she asks.

 

“Yeah,” he says.

 

“Good choice. Turn around.”

 

“What?”

 

“Turn around.”

 

Dolokhov turns. There are a few grunts from Mary and – oh, _God –_ the sound of ripping fabric. Mary makes many indiscernible noises. Dolokhov should probably be concerned, but hey: this is girl stuff. He knows absolutely nothing about it. This could be what always happens when girls get dressed.

 

“Okay, turn back around.”

 

He turns.

 

“What do you think?”

 

His jaw drops slightly; she’s even more _beautiful,_ which he didn’t think possible. Mary is _always_ beautiful, but he’s never seen her like this. Radiant. _Happy_.

 

“You look amazing,” he says. “I’m speechless.”

 

She stops and studies his face – “Oh,” she says, “you really think so? I don’t think I—”

 

“You look great. You’ll have girls falling all over you! Now let’s go and kick some ass, okay?”

 

Mary smiles wide. “Okay.”


	8. your love will carry me

Sonya and Hélène moved in together on Sonya’s eighteenth birthday into a huge apartment in the middle of downtown. Dolokhov still isn’t sure about how the hell they managed to afford it – on second thought, he doesn’t actually know much about the Kuragin family as a whole. They could be serial killers. Or bank robbers. Or aliens. Aliens visiting earth – that would explain a _lot._

 

Anyways.

 

The apartment is beautiful, but knowing Hélène he didn’t expect anything less. There’s just something about her. You look at Hélène and you automatically think _luxury –_ Dolokhov is pretty sure that this is what everyone thinks upon meeting her. She’s like a goddess walking upon mortals.

 

The first thing that he notices about the party is that a very loud pop song is playing from the stereo and somewhere in the background, he can hear the very faint tune of Billy Ray Cyrus’ “Achy Breaky Heart”.

 

This is going to be a very interesting party.

 

He walks in, hand in Mary’s hand, and she ducks behind him as they close the door. Dolokhov understands; it feels like everyone is staring at them. Everyone _is_ staring at them. They’re probably thinking _who the hell are those people and what are they doing here?_

 

They go back to dancing and drinking and – whatever kids do at parties.

 

“It’s okay,” he says. “You don’t have to hide.”

 

“I’m scared,” she replies. “I’m in over my head.”

 

“You’ll be fine. I’ll stay with you, I promise.”

 

“Okay,” Mary breathes, and slowly walks in front of him. He’s not going to leave her. The last thing he would ever do is leave her.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They take a seat at the table next to the two kids from Dolokhov’s science class. The problem is that, okay, Dolokhov has seen parties on TV, but he’s never actually _been_ to one. He imagined it being kind of like this: you enter the party and you start dancing immediately, and then you meet the love of your life and confess your love for them drunkenly.

 

This, though, is nothing like that. This is just _awkward._

 

 Balaga is in the corner making out with another member of Hélène’s club. His name is something like – Troy? It’s Troy, right? Something with a T or maybe a K. It’s too loud for him to _think._

 

Dolokhov looks away.

 

Mary pulls on his arm. “Look,” she says, “over there, in the corner.”

 

“Which corner?”

 

“The… corner.”

 

Dolokhov turns his head around the room. Which corner? There are _so many corners._ The entire apartment is filled with people. Barely-clothed people. On second thought: this _does_ almost resemble a stereotypical television high-school party.

 

And – _oh._ By the bathroom door is Natasha Rostova.

 

“Oh,” he says. “Mary, go talk to her.”

 

“I can’t,” Mary says. “I mean. I don’t know. I’m not – I can’t. I’m afraid I’ll say something stupid.”

 

“You’re incapable of saying stupid things,” Dolokhov tells her. “You’ll do fine.”

 

“Wait,” she says, “the pact. I can’t go because of the pact.”

 

“I think the pact pretty much stopped being a thing when I told you about the party. You’re making excuses.”

 

“I’m…”

 

“Look, I won’t push you. But I really think you should go for it. Think about it – you’ll never get anywhere if you don’t go over there and talk to her.”

 

Mary smiles, faintly. She knows that Dolokhov is right.

 

Without words, she stands up. She can go over to Natasha and she won’t say anything stupid – listen, she’s capable of it. She’s capable of talking to girls. She’s capable of anything. In Dolokhov’s words: she’s Mary fucking Bolkonsky, she can do _anything._

Okay, one foot in front of the other. Get across the room. Suddenly, she’s forgetting how to walk. Move. Legs, _move._

 

Natasha sees her and – shit, Natasha _sees her,_ and she’s beautiful. Mary is probably hallucinating or something, but she seems to almost light up at the sight of her. Hallucination. _Impossible._

 

“Um,” Mary says, when her legs finally cooperate and take her to Natasha. “Hello.”

 

“Hey,” Natasha replies, “I’m so glad you’re here. Sonya wanted me to come, but I’m not really one for parties.”

 

Mary laughs, because what else do you say to that? What are you supposed to do in a situation like this?

 

“Would you mind keeping me company for a little while? If your friend is okay with it, I mean.”

 

This is really happening. Natasha is asking Mary to _stay with her,_ and it’s happening. This is going on right now. Oh. God. Natasha is asking her to stay.

 

“He won’t mind at all,” she says. “And of course not. I don’t mind at all.”

 

“Great,” Natasha says, and then, awkwardly: “Is this your first party?”

 

“Yes,” Mary admits.

 

“It really doesn’t look like it. You look really good. And – you know, different. From what you usually wear to school.”

 

(This is really happening.

 

Calm down.)

 

“Is that a bad thing?” she asks.

 

“Not at all. When you walked in, I thought you looked amazing. And now, up close, you look even more amazing. So. Not – not to say that you don’t look amazing at school, though.”

 

Mary doesn’t like swearing, but: _fuck._ Fuck. Major fuck. Did Natasha just – did the _love of her life_ just—

 

Yeah. Yep. She did.

 

“Thank you so much,” Mary says, _okay, be cool._ “And you – you look really nice, too.”

 

Natasha is wearing a beautiful white coat, and she’s beautiful and it’s all just so _beautiful._

 

“Thank you,” she says.

 

“You’re very welcome.”

 

“I’m going to go see Hélène’s brother about a drink,” she says. “Do you, um, want to come with?”

 

“Oh, I don’t dri—" Mary stops. This is _Natasha._ Natasha asking her if they want to do something _together._ “Actually, yes. I’ll come.”

 

“Great,” Natasha says.

 

Before she follows Natasha, she turns to Dolokhov, across the room, and mouths _come on._

He sees her, but shakes his head – _what?_

Mary makes a _come here_ motion with her hand. _Anatole,_ she whispers, because if she can be with Natasha, then Dolokhov needs to be with Anatole. It’s only right.

 

He stands up.

 

Mary runs after Natasha.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Billy Ray Cyrus and the man that Balaga is kissing -- """Troy""" are all references to the gaycometnet. I'm very sorry but also I'm not actually sorry.


	9. and it shines

Dolokhov is about fifty percent sure that he’s a ghost.

 

When he walks in, Anatole is sitting on top of the counter. His shirt is missing three buttons, his hair is messy, and he’s holding a bottle of – vodka? – in one hand and his phone in the other. God. He looks _so good._ Dolokhov is a ghost now. He’s dead.

 

…since talking to Anatole, he’s passed away multiple times.

 

Natasha is talking to him. Mary is behind her, and Dolokhov is _one hundred percent_ sure that _Mary_ is a ghost. He watches her; her hands are folded and they’re standing close, _close._ Natasha is laughing at something Anatole said and Mary is watching her with a wide smile. It’s beautiful. It’s _beautiful._

Then he feels a hand wrap around his arm and he’s snapped, sadly, back into the reality of Anatole being straight and never liking him back. That thing.

 

Hélène is standing next to him. “I never thought I’d see you at a party,” she says sharply.

 

“I never pictured myself going to one,” he says in response, “but Anatole invited me, and… y’know.”

 

“Anatole invited you?” she asks.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“He never told me that,” says Hélène, and a smile grows on her face. “Interesting. Well. I’m glad you came. Something tells me that my brother would’ve been… disappointed… if you had ignored his invitation.”

 

Dolokhov is about to ask _what the hell does that mean_ – maybe without the _hell –_ but Hélène has already left him to – most likely, find Sonya.

 

“Insightful, as always,” he mutters to himself.

 

He’s standing in the back of the room. He needs to go up to Anatole and talk to him. Anatole is the whole reason that he’s _here._ Dolokhov can’t just ignore him. He needs to do… something. Something. Something that isn’t standing in the back of the room, admiring Anatole from far away.

 

He’s spent years admiring Anatole from far away. It’s going to change. Here, at this fucking party, it’s going to _change._

It’s going to change. His heart is beating, fast. He didn’t know that it was possible to feel like this – this sickness, this love-sickness. Sick from anticipation.

 

He approaches the counter.

 

Anatole doesn’t see him. He’s talking to – oh, Mary now. Their conversation seems to be based around the different kinds of alcohol that the Kuragin-Rostova household has.

 

Of course.

 

“Hi,” he says stupidly, because he (stupidly) can’t think of anything else to say.

 

Anatole turns. There’s a half-smile on his face – okay, a full smile. A full smile.

 

A full smile. Because of seeing Dolokhov.

 

So that’s a thing. That’s a thing that is currently happening.

 

See: he’s never had a drink in his entire life, but right now, Dolokhov _needs_ one.

 

“You came,” Anatole says. “I’m – I’m so glad. That you were able to come. I’ve been having a lot of fun with your friend. She’s really nice. And, most importantly, new to the whole party thing.”

 

“Most importantly?”

 

“Yeah. I think it’s kinda interesting, you know, seeing how everyone reacts to their first high-school party. It’s an _essential_ experience.”

 

“It’s my first one too,” Dolokhov says stupidly (again). Everything that he says is stupid.

 

He told Mary that she’s incapable of saying stupid things, and it’s true. Just… ironic. He’s usually cool. Or: he likes to think that he’s usually cool. He just usually doesn’t act like _this._

 

Anatole jumps off of the counter. Like, literally jumps. What the _fuck._

 

“Then,” he says, “this is going to be the best night of your _life_.”

 

He’s about to ask, again, _what the hell does that mean,_ but Anatole has his arm and is already dragging him behind the counter. Why does this keep happening to him, honestly. It must be a Kuragin thing.

 

And then it sets in: Anatole has his arm. Anatole has his arm, and they’re behind the counter on the floor. This is like every dream Dolokhov has ever had.

 

Anatole opens the underneath cabinet, and slips away one of the inside walls. It reveals a secret compartment that’s full of alcohol. Lots of alcohol. Holy shit.

 

“Where – how – I mean, Hélène and Sonya are only eighteen, how did they get this stuff?”

 

Anatole laughs. “I don’t know. I don’t really ask questions.”

 

“Oh,” Dolokhov says, and then there’s an awkward silence for a few moments. _He regrets me,_ Dolokhov thinks, quietly. _He regrets me._

It’s fucking ridiculous.

 

“Anyway,” Anatole says, “take your pick. Whatever you want, I don’t care.”

 

Obviously, the best way to deal with this is to close your eyes and pick a bottle randomly. Okay. Dolokhov closes his eyes, feels around the cabinet. All of the bottles feel weird. Is he _really_ doing this? Is he really going to do this? It’s terrifying. It’s a very bad idea.

 

He touches a bottle and something screams _yes._ He leans forward to grab it, eyes still closed—

 

Oh. Oh, shit.

 

His head rams right into the cabinet.

 

“Are you okay?” Anatole asks, and despite the Severe Pain in his head, all that Dolokhov can focus on is the (probably imagined) worry in his voice.

 

“I’m – yeah,” Dolokhov says. “I’m good.”

 

He opens his eyes.

 

He opens his eyes, and – and Anatole is right next to him. So close. His hand is on Dolokhov’s hand. So _close._ Wh – what the fuck? His heart is racing fast. He – he doesn’t think that he’s hurt that badly; his head has already stopped hurting. Maybe it’s because of Anatole and their closeness. Maybe it’s because he’s afraid.

 

“Are you sure?” Anatole asks.

 

Dolokhov hesitates, because if he says _yes,_ Anatole will move away.

 

“Yes,” he says, “I’m sure.”

 

Anatole looks down… at his face. Dolokhov must be imagining this, because – for a moment, it looks like Anatole is staring at his lips.

 

Then Anatole pulls away.

 

“Right, okay then,” Anatole says. “Let’s drink.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	10. run, run away with me

It's suddenly occurring to Mary, after seeing Anatole drag her best friend down to the ground in search of alcohol, that maybe this was a very bad idea.

 

Okay, so Anatole is the love of Dolokhov’s life. It’s a beautiful, beautiful love story. They write about this kind of thing in songs, make movies about it. Dolokhov -- her best friend and the most important person in the universe  -- _loves_ him, which obviously means that Mary loves him as well. He makes Dolokhov happy, which is all that really matters… right?

  
Yeah, right. Totally. It’s just that – okay, it’s just that. Dolokhov is her best friend and the most important person in the universe and Mary is paranoid. She’s paranoid, okay? Anatole could be a bad influence. Dolokhov can handle himself. But what if he can’t? What if he’s so blinded by love and doesn’t realize that, in this strange universe being created in Mary’s mind around the off chance that Anatole is bad news, Anatole is just out to hurt him?

 

Seeing Dolokhov hurt, especially by the love of his life, is not something that she would be able to handle. She would have to end Anatole. Sweet little Mary who’d never hurt a fly and has every event in the Bible memorized… hurting someone. What a thought. She’s definitely capable of it, and she would do _anything_ for her best friend.

 

So, in this off-chance universe, Anatole will go _down._

 

Mary glances over at Natasha. This universe is this universe, and in this universe, Anatole is fine. She can save the destroying for later.

  
“So,” Natasha says, and Mary is cognizant again, “looks like the two of them are… um. Busy.”

 

“Looks like it,” Mary replies, because what else can you say to that? _Oh, yeah, they’re busy. Do you mind leaning over the counter and watching them, and then telling me, in detail, exactly what’s happening?_

Obviously, despite Mary’s curiosity, that cannot happen.

 

“You know,” Natasha says with a smile that could raise the dead, “I think I owe you one, right?”

 

“You don’t owe me anything, really—"

 

“Do you want to get out of here?”

 

Mary stops. She’s completely cold. “And… what? Go where?”

 

“Out. Away from here. I think I know a good place.”

 

Mary is cold. She’s _freezing._ She blinks twice; did she hear that right? Did Natasha just ask her to “get out of here” – also known as, the way you ask someone out for the first time in all romantic comedies. Seriously. In every romantic comedy that Mary has ever watched, the main love interest guy says to love interest girl at some get-together, “Hey, do you wanna get out of here?” It’s a _thing,_ see. It’s a thing.

 

“Sure!” she says, and – oops, that probably sounded like she’s been waiting for this moment her entire life, but whatever.

 

* * *

 

 

“Keep them shut! No peeking.”

 

Mary places her hands over her eyes, rubs them. Presses her fingers down so hard that she feels like her eyes are going to burst and melt right out of her face. Which – not even that could ruin this day for her. Nothing can ruin this day for her.

 

They drive in silence for a while, in Natasha’s car (very old, very beautiful, very _perfect._ How does Natasha manage to be this perfect?).

 

“Where are we going?”

 

“I’m sorry, that’s classified.”

 

“Natasha…”

 

“Okay,” Natasha says, and maybe Mary is hallucinating it, but it sounds like there’s disappointment in her voice. This is bad. This is bad, what was she thinking—

 

“Open them.”

 

Mary opens her eyes hesitantly. Part of her mind screams something about a bad idea, and another part of her mind beats that part of her mind mercilessly with a stick.

 

It’s—

 

Oh.

 

Natasha is pulling into the parking lot of the ice cream shop.


	11. i love you so, i love you so

It’s taking Mary a bit too long to process it all; apparently her mouth is hanging slightly open, because Natasha is laughing at her. She’s saying things, but it’s all blurry. It’s all just so blurry. Natasha in the parking lot of the ice cream shop where they first talked, under the light of the sky when it’s in that transition period between evening and night. The moon is out and the sky is gray and orange and apparently Mary is a poet now, because she’s finding words and metaphors in her speechlessness to describe how Natasha looks. How the moment feels.

 

Yeah, so she’s not a very good poet. It’s the thought that counts.

 

“Um,” she says, finally, “what’s… going on?”

 

“What’s your favorite kind of ice cream?” is all that Natasha says. “Mine’s – hm. I like them all. I promise you won’t see me surrounded by ice cream this time, though. At least, I hope.” She laughs, and her laugh makes Mary feel like her terrible mind poetry could become a masterpiece. You know, something that’d go down in history. Natasha’s laugh could make Mary the best poet in the world.

 

“Mine’s… c – c – cookies. And cream. Cookies and cream.”

 

“My second favorite,” Natasha says. “Are you okay?”

 

“I’m okay,” Mary says, and for a moment her body stops trembling. “I’m great, and fine, and… let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

Natasha practically forces chocolate sauce over her very good and pure cookies-and-cream cone. If it were any other person—

 

If it were any other person, she wouldn’t be eating ice cream with them. Oh. Oh _man._ This is bad news. If Mary takes one more bite, _she_ will be the one crying on the bathroom floor.

 

Why. Why has God cursed her with dairy allergies.

 

She places her ice cream skillfully on a napkin. Natasha is too busy piling fruit and sprinkles into her bowl to notice. The ratio of toppings-to-ice-cream is probably very off, but it’s getting harder and harder for Mary to think.

 

“Hey,” Natasha says when she’s finished and her bowl is nearly overflowing (how much did it _cost,_ anyway), “you’re not eating. Are you sure you’re alright?”

 

“I’m good, just, uh, remembered that I sort of have this… disagreement… with dairy, so. You know.”

 

This is the most humiliating thing that has ever happened to Mary. The most humiliating thing in her entire sixteen years of existence.

 

“Oh, gosh,” Natasha says, because Natasha is, of course, the kind of person who says _gosh_ and they’re perfect for each other, “I didn’t even think of that! I’m so, so sorry. I guess I should’ve told you instead of trying to surprise you. This probably wasn’t a very good surprise, was it?”

 

“It’s great! Please don’t be sorry. I love it here. My best friend takes me here all the time. Everyone’s so nice – the food, not so nice, but… Please don’t feel bad. I’m just confused. Y’know. About why you wanted to leave with me… or pay attention to me in general.”

 

Natasha stares at her. “Because I never really got a chance to talk to you. You know, you’re Andrey’s sister… and we’ve never even talked. I hope you don’t mind, though, what with Andrey and the break-up. He didn’t tell you horrible things about me, right?”

 

Mary smiles. “No, no. Not at all. I’m still confused about that, actually. I mean, he seemed like he was so in love with you, and then he just called it off like it was nothing? Just because of boarding school? I don’t understand how someone could just… give _up…_ on someone as great as you.”

 

Natasha’s face flickers from sad to back to her normal, happy, beautiful expression. “Thank you. Yeah, it’s... um. Andrey was – _is_ – the love of my life, but I guess I’ll have to move on, right?”

 

Andrey. Mary loves her brother dearly, and she misses her brother dearly, which means what she’s feeling right now is _bad_ and _wrong_ and just horrible. Mary is never supposed to feel anything like this. She loves her brother. Right. She loves Natasha. Right.

 

Right.

 

“Yeah,” Mary says. “It’s – it’s okay. You can always talk to me, if you want. I know how hard moving on is... I’m here.”

 

“I know,” Natasha says. “I can imagine… it must be pretty hard. I – you know, I saw the way he was looking at Anatole. And… the way Anatole was looking at him.”

 

“Wait, what?”

 

“I’m here if you want to talk, too.”

 

Wait. Shit. Shit.

 

Does Natasha think—

 

“I don’t have any feelings for him. He’s my best friend. And very gay. Trust me, I have never felt anything except platonic love for Dolokhov.”

 

“Oh,” Natasha says. “I feel so stupid now. I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s okay,” Mary tells her. “We do get it a lot. But trust me – _trust me –_ we’re just friends. And, um… what was that about Anatole looking at him?”

 

“Everyone at the entire party could see it. The way he turned into a completely different person when he saw your friend come in, the way he completely dropped your conversation and jumped off of the counter when they saw each other. It was beautiful.”

 

“Yes,” Mary says, and she’s filled with a sudden sense of dread. Natasha’s never going to like her back. There’s Andrey, and there will always be Andrey. “Beautiful.”

 

Oh. And more dread. Her curfew is soon. If she doesn’t get home in time, her father will…

 

“I have to go.”

 

She stands up and – and her ice cream cone falls with her. All over her dress.

 

“Wait,” Natasha says. “Did I do something wrong? I – I don’t want to hurt you.”

 

“No,” Mary says, completely ignoring the fact that her favorite dress is soaked and her father is going to murder her. “No. You didn’t hurt me. I just have to get home, because my dad is very strict with rules, and…”

 

“I’ll drive you.”

 

“No, I—“

 

Her mind is clouding and she can’t think and her father is going to kill her and she’s breathing hard and she can’t breathe and—

 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Natasha says. “It’s okay. If you can, tell me what I can do to help.”

 

“My dress,” Mary breathes, “is ruined. I made a huge mistake, I—“

 

“You can have my jacket. Everything will be fine, okay? I’m going to drive you home, and I’ll text your friend for you if you need me to.”

 

“I don’t want to ruin your jacket,” Mary says, and starts shaking again.

 

“I never wear it.”

 

“He can’t get texts.”

 

“Then I’ll text Sonya and tell her to give him a message. It’s all going to be okay.”

 

“Okay,” Mary sighs, and if she wasn’t freaking out, her heart would be fluttering. “Let’s – let’s go.”

**Author's Note:**

> There is a [tag on my Tumblr blog full of things related to this AU,](http://danatole.tumblr.com/tagged/hsau%20stuff/chrono) so check that out if you want!!!! And Please tell me what u think! Thanks for reading!
> 
> [ This ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ZeaKceeYDM) is the song the fic is named after. It has literally nothing to do with the fic besides the fact that it's the song I played on repeat the entire time I worked on it and it's amazing.


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